Chapter 8
MOST GIVING
“Mind if I tag along?” David asks as I finish loading boxes in the back of my truck.
I shut the tailgate with a loud clang. “To the thrift store?”
“I told everyone in theater that I would try to find some things we could use for costumes. Maybe the thrift store will have some weird stuff. Since you’re already bringing donations, I thought I'd come, too.”
I hadn’t planned to stay longer than the time it took to pull the boxes from the truck bed, but I would enjoy the time with my little brother.
I’m graduating soon, and moments like this won’t happen much longer.
Plus, I’d love to get a read on how he's doing with school and theater and Citrus Scholar. I want to make sure he’s on the right path.
I shrug. “Fine with me.”
“Great.”
We’ve barely pulled ourselves up into the cab of my truck when David connects his phone to my stereo and starts playing some music.
He rolls down the window and starts singing along loudly to the song.
I smile to myself when he starts dancing.
He’s got his arms in the air and looks like someone’s crazy aunt on the dance floor of a wedding.
I let this go on for a few songs and even join him on one before I reach over and turn down the music.
“Hey,” David says. “I was listening to that.”
“Yeah, and singing along, too. My ears can only take so much.”
He snorts as he rests his elbow out the window. “Don’t be jealous because I got all the skills in that department.”
I raise my brow as I turn on to Main Street. “Jealous that I don’t sound like a dying deer when I sing?”
“Yeah, right. You only wish that I sounded like a dying deer so you didn’t sound so bad.”
I chuckle as I flip down my visor to get the sun out of my eyes.
David’s right. A good singing voice is not something I was gifted with.
I like to do it in the privacy of my truck and sometimes in the shower, but I can’t carry a tune to save my life.
I may have more talent in athletics, but David got everything related to the arts.
He plays the piano, sings better than anyone I know, and brings characters to life on stage.
“How’s theater going?” I ask. I’m so happy he gets to do it this year. I know he got the part of Lumière for Beauty and the Beast, but beyond that, I’m out of the loop.
“Good. I think everything’s coming together. Everyone’s been cast, we’ve been given our scripts to start memorizing…” He trails off and shrugs.
“But?”
He sighs loud enough I can hear it over the rush of wind in the cab. “We still need a few stagehands. It’s a pretty big production, and it takes a lot of people to pull off everything.”
“So get a few more people.”
He laughs. “If only it were that easy.”
“Just ask around.”
“Okay, fine. Want to be a stagehand?”
I laugh back. “Yeah, right.”
His smile disappears. “Therein lies the rub.”
“Wait?” My mouth falls open. “You were serious? But I’ve never done theater in my life. I wouldn’t even know what to do.”
“It’s not that hard. You just help with changing the set between scenes. You wear all black, no one sees you, and it would look great for Citrus Scholar.”
He’s right. It would look great for Citrus Scholar.
I have athletics, grades, and student government, but I need more.
I briefly wonder what Ella is working on to make herself look better than me, and a pit forms in my stomach.
She could be doing something arts related, and I wouldn’t know it.
Ceramics, interpretive dance—does she play an instrument that I don’t know about?
Theater could be the perfect way for me to tick off that box.
But it’s theater.
I really am happy that David has a passion for it, and I don’t think less of him for singing and dancing on stage.
It’s just not my thing. I know I should say yes—not only for my sake, for his, too—but I’d rather find another way to fill that void.
I tap my fingers against the steering wheel in frustration. “When do you need a decision?"
“Monday?”
That’s only a couple of days, but it shouldn’t matter. I should be saying yes right now. I sigh. “Let me think about it?”
“Sure,” he says. “And if not, I’m sure I'll find someone. I just thought I’d ask.”
I nod as I pull up to the thrift store. “Why don’t you start looking around for costumes, and I’ll carry these boxes in?”
I don’t have to tell him twice. David’s already hopped out of the passenger seat and is halfway to the store entrance by the time I turn off the ignition. I get out and stop in my tracks when I see a familiar station wagon with peeling paint.
Now I really don’t want to stick around and wait for David to find clothing items for the musical. Every minute spent here is a risked chance of bumping into Ella, and I’d rather not ruin a perfectly good Saturday.
Lingering near my truck bed, I stop to tie one of my shoes even though the laces haven’t come undone. Then I check the other one, just to be safe. When I stand back up, I rub the knot in my shoulder with my knuckles for a couple of minutes.
When I can’t put it off any longer, I grab the boxes and bring them inside.
They’re small bankers’ boxes, mostly filled with off-season clothing and some things my older sister left when she moved out, so they aren’t heavy.
I’m able to stack them all in my arms in one trip, and thanks to the automatic doors at the entrance, I have no trouble bringing them inside.
After I drop the boxes with an employee, I walk around the store.
It’s large enough that I can avoid Ella if I’m careful.
I scan the room over the racks of clothing and spot David.
He’s flitting through the store like a hummingbird.
He walks around, does a double take, looks at something, and then moves on.
There’s no rhyme or reason to his movements as he does multiple passes over the same stretch of clothing.
I’m not sure what he’s looking for, but I hope he finds it quickly.
Then I spot a flash of light blonde hair that I’m sure is Ella’s.
She’s on the other side of the store from me.
Her approach is much different. She’s meticulous in her search.
She slides each individual item on the rack and looks at it before moving to the next one.
She’s focused and hasn’t noticed me or David yet. With any luck, it won’t happen at all.
I watch her for another moment but relax after determining she’s focused and probably won’t see me. Figuring I’m safe, I look around a little more. There’s a bulletin board near the register, and I start reading the papers pinned to it.
There are requests for dog sitting, ads for adult GED programs, a few real estate business cards.
There’s goat yoga on a farm just outside of city limits and a moms group that meets at the library on Wednesday.
I’m about to go tell David to wrap it up when a bright orange paper catches my eye.
It’s a flyer from a local non-profit, MASE, Meals And Service for the Elderly.
They need volunteers to pack and deliver lunches for senior citizens who are living on a fixed income and can’t drive anymore.
I think about my grandparents and how difficult it is for them to get out anymore.
They love using food delivery services, but I know not everyone has the means to do that.
I’m about to shrug it off as a cool idea and nothing more when I have another thought.
I could volunteer for this. Not only would I be helping people, it would be a great way to show the secret board at school that I’m most deserving to be Citrus Scholar.
There’s a QR code for more information. I hold my phone up to the paper to scan it when I hear Ella’s voice from right behind me.
“You’re not signing up for that.”
I turn to face her. There’s a stack of dresses resting over her arm. I look down at them and back up to her face. I raise my brows. “Oh, yeah? And why’s that?”
“Because I already did.”
I pull the paper from where it hangs and pretend to read it. “Weird. I don’t see anything about calling dibs on here. I must be missing that part.” I hold it out to her. “Show me where it says that.”
She snatches the paper from my hand. “I saw it first. You don’t get to take it from me.”
I genuinely wanted to volunteer before, but now that I see how much the idea bugs Ella, I need to do it. I rock back on my heels. “I’m not taking anything from you. That paper was on a public bulletin board. Anyone is allowed to do it.”
“I…You…” She pushes out a large puff of air. “I saw it first.”
I smirk at her. “You’ve already said that.”
She lifts her chin. “Well, good luck signing up without the paper because I’m not putting it back up there.” She balls it up and shoves it in her pocket.
“How altruistic of you. Blocking others from helping the elderly. It’s a wonder you didn’t win class president with that attitude.”
Her jaw ticks. I brace myself for her to throw the dresses at me, but her face becomes a mask as she flashes a plastic smile instead.
“That’s okay. That election didn’t matter as much as Citrus Scholar, and it’s going to be so much sweeter when I beat you at it.
Enjoy your title. Sign up to deliver meals. It doesn't matter to me.”
“You’re not going to win.”
“We’ll see about that.” Ella spins and walks off toward the fitting rooms.
Once she’s gone, I pull out my phone. The website pulled up before she took the paper, and I fill out the interest form. If Ella is going to do it, I need to make sure I’m there, too. I can’t let her get an edge over me.
I type out my responses and put my phone in my pocket just in time to see David and Ella talking.
They’re both smiling, and nothing is fake about their expressions.
They look like they could be friends, but that doesn’t sound right.
When would they even spend time together?
They aren’t in the same grade and don’t share any of the same extracurriculars.
My brows furrow as I watch them for a few moments. At one point, Ella reaches out and touches his arm. She actually touches him—and he doesn’t brush her away in disgust. That’s when I know for sure this isn’t the first time they’ve talked.
David glances in my direction, and his face drops. When Ella follows his gaze, hers does, too. My brother says one last thing to her before walking toward me. He’s empty-handed.
“No luck?” I snap, not really sure why I’m so angry.
David pretends not to notice the edge in my voice and shrugs. “Wild, right? For some reason, the thrift store doesn’t have clothing appropriate for 18th-century France.”
I don’t let him off the hook. “Why were you talking to Ella?”
“Because she said hello to me?”
It was more than a friendly hello. They were laughing together. “What were you talking about?”
“School stuff,” he says slowly and meets my eyes like he’s got nothing to hide, but he’s worrying his bottom lip.
“Are you friends with her?”
He releases his lip. “What?”
“David, you're my brother.”
“That doesn’t mean I can’t talk to her.”
I point to Ella who is walking out of the thrift store. “She is the only person who stands between me and Citrus Scholar.”
“So what?”
I flinch. He can’t be serious. He, of all people, should understand the pressure I’m under to succeed. The pressure we’re under. Our parents will flip if I don’t get it. And poor David will suffer. “What do you think will happen if I lose to Ella?”
“I don’t know.”
“Mom and Dad are going to be pissed. And all that rage is going to come down on you.”
He throws his hands up. “I’m trying my best. That’s all I can do, and that’s all you can do.”
I laugh harshly at him. “It’s just that simple, is it?”
“What do you think they’ll do if we don’t get Citrus Scholar?” he yells, but I can tell he’s not happy about his loss of composure. He pauses, rubs his face, and tries again at a normal tone. “Do you think they’ll disown us? Throw us on the streets? Come on, Connor.”
I don’t understand where all of this is coming from.
Has Ella somehow convinced him that winning Citrus Scholar isn’t everything?
That would be really rich coming from her.
Our parents might not throw us on the streets, but I can’t say that for sure.
Only one person has dared go against my dad, and he’s in prison.
Williamses don’t fail. Ever. They adapt. They always land on top.
“Connor,” David says, pulling me from my thoughts. “You’ll still get into college if you lose to Ella. You’ll still have a full-ride to almost any school.”
“But it won’t be Citrus Scholar. That money can’t go to Ella.”
David rolls his eyes. “Would it be so bad?”
A sound of frustration escapes the back of my throat.
I can’t tell if David really doesn’t understand why it’s such a big deal or if he’s purposely being obtuse.
Either way, we’re not getting anywhere. And since he doesn’t have anything to buy, there’s no reason for us to stick around.
I storm out to my vehicle, not looking to see if he follows me.
I turn on the truck and stew in silence for a few moments before I realize David didn't come. I look around the parking lot and don’t see him. Leaving the engine idling, I walk back inside the store. He’s not there either.
I lean against the door of my truck and pull my phone out.
Where are you?
I got another ride home.
I look around the parking lot for the familiar station wagon. It’s gone. She’s not the person giving David a ride, right? If our parents saw her dropping off their son, they would lose their minds.
With who?
Does it matter?
David isn’t usually passive aggressive. He must be really upset with me, but I don’t understand why. Because I don’t want Ella to win? Because I want him to be Citrus Scholar when he’s a senior? I thought these were all givens, but then our conversation got weird, and he left with someone else.
How did everything get so mixed up? I’m not sure, but I don’t have any other choice but to go home alone and figure this all out.